


Alcohol Really Isn’t That Great, but Your Jealously Is

by Dmitri_Aspen



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Jealous Romania, M/M, Norway be lookin fine in bootyshorts, Norway’s a tease, Power bottom Norway, Romania’s a dork who can’t control himself, but they love each other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dmitri_Aspen/pseuds/Dmitri_Aspen
Summary: After a night of Sigurd’s endless teasing, Vladimir takes him home. After things get a little heated, Vladimir ends up slipping and Sigurd takes over yet again.





	Alcohol Really Isn’t That Great, but Your Jealously Is

**Author's Note:**

> Sigurd is Norway, Eiríkur is Iceland, Vladimir is Romania, and Nikola is Bulgaria.
> 
> This is the first time I’ve written anything like this is a while. I’m sorry if it’s not all true, since I’m not intimately familiar with the male anatomy or how any of that works.

This part of town is always eerily silent. As long as you stick to the roads lit by lampposts, that is. Once you head to the abandoned subway system underneath the town, it’s always a wild party. It tends to get worse at night. Though there’s a neutral section of this part in town where none of the gangs are allowed to fight in thanks to societal standards. Nothing shady happens there, and it’s used as a place for everyone to simply rest. Sigurd and his brother Eiríkur run a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop there with no worries. The place gets decent business. Enough to pay the bills.

“Any luck wit yer man, Eirí?” Timo absentmindedly asks, taking a sip from his to-go cup that Sigurd had prepared. Eiríkur sighs, sending a glare towards Timo.

Eiríkur’s eyes darken, lips falling into a frown. “Nope. We’re not even dating, so just shut up ‘bout it, please.” Eiríkur refills the coffee grinder, and Sigurd appears from the break room.

He and Timo share a slightly concerned look. “Y’all ready for t’night? Magnus is havin’ a party at his place,” Sigurd uses that to change the subject. Eiríkur tends to become more aggressive with his words when Alfred is brought up and Sigurd isn’t too fond of talking about it either.

“I got te mead! I don’t plan on lettin’ Ivan beat me easily this time wit his vodka! You two better vote for me.” Timo slams his fist onto the counter he’s leaning against, a determined smile plastered on his face.

“I’ll be te judge o’ that, Timo,” Sigurd says in a blank tone, hints of sarcasm showing through. Timo’s eyes drain of hope, and Eiríkur sighs.

“Don’t worry, Timo, I’ll vote for ya. I don’t plan on drinkin’ but that doesn’t mean I can’t vote,” Timo’s eyes regain their cheer. Sigurd huffs and heads out to clear the tables and sweep the floor. It’s evening, and they all need to prepare. Eiríkur dearly hopes he doesn’t have to stay near the other two. Sigurd and Timo have such a strange, provocative wardrobe for these type of events.

“I’ll be upstairs, Sig.” Eiríkur unties the apron tied around his waist and hangs it up on the rack by the doorway to the break room. Timo says he should be going since he also needs to find Berwald and Magnus. The two have a strange tendency to get lost when they’re together. Sigurd nods and goes back to cleaning.

The store is dead silent, save for the whispers of the broom hitting the tiled floor. A song is stuck on an eternal loop in Sigurd’s head. As much as it annoys him, it seems to help pass the time. He glances at the clock above the front door. Only another thirty minutes hours to clean up the cafe and get ready for the party. He decides that his work was decent enough, and he goes to hang up his apron and return the broom to the closet.

The door opens, the little bell above it clinging cheerfully. Sigurd sighs in annoyance, but he goes to stand at the counter.

“Heya, Sigurd,” Vladimir slowly walks up to where Sigurd stands, leaning forward. Their eyes stare into each other’s for a minute before Vladimir grins and backs away. “Ya goin’?”

Sigurd nods. “Of course, Vladimir,” he says the name in a lower tone, a flirtatious tone almost. Vladimir smirks, sitting on one of the stools. Sigurd notices the fairly heavy trench coat Vladimir’s wearing and knows full well what it means. His party attire is hidden underneath it.

“Wear that shirt I bought ya a few days ago. It looks sexy as hell an’ I want t’ show everyone who you’re with,” his voice is playful with lust clearly noticeable. Sigurd takes a few moments to admire Vladimir’s shiny, plump lips. Oh, what fun it’ll be to ruin that work of art.

“Wear that shirt ‘long wit te shorts ‘n’ boots?” Sigurd’s eyes flicker, tone teasingly seductive. Vladimir’s eyes cloud over in desire.

“Of course.” He lets out a pent-up breath and gets up from the stool. “I’ll see ya there, babe.” Vladimir winks coyly and asks out of the shop. The bell chimes one final time before going silent for the night.

Sigurd mutely sighs, but there are traces of a smile on his lips. He puts everything away and closes up the store, locking the door and double checking to make sure everything was in order. It was decent enough. Sigurd hangs up his apron and heads into the break room, opening another side door to reveal a cramped stairwell. With hasty, familiar movements, Sigurd rushes up the stairs and to his room.

The place is rather neat, a twin sized bed pressed into the far right corner. A white desk sits in front of the only window in the room. Next to it on the other wall to Sigurd’s left is the dresser filled with clothes for all sorts of occasions. There’s a special drawer filled with outfits for parties along with clothing bought by Vladimir. Sigurd isn’t fond of showing himself off in this way, but it does give Vladimir a reason to voice about their relationship to others. Outside of parties, he’s quiet and timid about it.

After some digging around in that drawer, Sigurd finds the dark, skintight leather shorts Vladimir adores so much. Sigurd looks around some more and finds the shirt Vladimir bought. It’s a solid black, sleeveless crop-top with fishnet covering his stomach and back. Sleek, ankle-high black boots sit on the carpet.

Sigurd must admit, however, that he feels quite sexy while wearing this. It’s the advances other people make on him that make him uncomfortable. If he wore this for just Vladimir alone, everything would be perfect. Though Sigurd finds Vladimir’s jealous side to be adorable and hot. Their fights for dominance when he’s jealous are simply amazing.

Sigurd often wonders why Vladimir asks that he wear these outfits when they both know full well what’s going to happen. Someone, probably drunk, will approach Sigurd, feeling him up and using sweet words tainted with lust. Vladimir, probably in a drunken rage, will swoop in and punch whoever is touching Sigurd. Then he’ll be dragged to a secluded area, where they’ll wrestle around to decide who’s dominant for the night. Normally it’s Sigurd, but on those nights Vladimir tends to win.

Not that Sigurd can complain about those nights, though. He honestly hopes it happens again tonight.

There’s a knock at the door. “Sigurd, c’mon! Timo’s outback wit Matt’ew ‘n’ Alfred,” Eiríkur’s voice is muffled by the door. Sigurd tenses, saying he’ll be out in a few minutes. He mentally curses himself for letting himself daydream.

With haste, he sheds his barista uniform and throws it onto his bed. He changes into the boots, crop top, and shorts, glancing around the room for the coat that will cover him until he gets to Magnus’s house. Once Sigurd locates it, he throws it on and straps it closed. It’s a fairly old coat, so there’s no zipper.

Since he’s rather sure he’s going to drink, he leaves his phone in his room. He doesn’t need to send drunk texts to Kiku again— or anyone for that matter.

After looking himself over in the mirror, the coat going down to his shins, Sigurd nods. It’ll be decent enough. He can’t wait to see Vladimir’s reaction, though this has happened countless times. A faint smile graces Sigurd’s lips as he walks out of his room and downstairs. Heading through the break room, he walks out into the alleyway. He hears Alfred call out, saying they were just about to leave.

With swift steps, Sigurd catches up to Alfred, Matthew, Timo, and Eiríkur. Alfred and Matthew are wearing coats similar to Sigurd’s, meanwhile, Timo and Eiríkur don’t have any sort of cover. Timo has never been too shy about his body, wearing revealing, stripper-worthy outfits. Whenever someone decides to comment on his chub, Berwald or Sigurd will most likely end up punching and knocking out whoever said the comment. Eiríkur, on the other hand, is fairly timid and dresses modestly. If anyone comments on Eiríkur’s oddly thin body, Magnus or Sigurd will most likely end up punching and knocking whoever said the comment. Once that happens once, people will keep quiet about it for the rests of the night

The five end up quietly talking amongst themselves. Matthew and Timo are having an avid conversation. Alfred is trying to get Eiríkur to talk, but he’s persistent about keeping silent. Sigurd watches with concern and mild amusement, along with occasionally chiming in on Timo and Matthew’s conversation on winter sports.

It doesn’t take all too long to reach Magnus’s place. He owns a decently sized flat near one of the most popular bars in the area. It’s a normal event for people to slowly migrate from Magnus’s place to the bar, or even to the nearby subway entrance.

They fall into a semi-awkward silence as they enter the elevator. Sigurd figures it’s a moment of silence before they get to the party, where silence is an unknown word.

Once they reach Magnus’s floor, they hear the faint thump thump of the beat of whatever song’s playing. Timo hums happily. He and Alfred dash out of the elevator as soon as the doors open. Matthew sighs in disappointment but doesn’t say anything. He, along with Sigurd and Eiríkur, calmly walk out, the doors sliding shut behind them.

“Y’all ready t’ see how wasted everyone gets?” Eiríkur asks, glancing at the other two. Matthew chuckles and nods, but adds that he’s planning on drinking as well. Eiríkur hums in disappointment. He was hoping he could talk to someone who wasn’t drunk off their ass. Sigurd doesn’t say anything.

Timo must’ve told Magnus they were here, since he charges out of his flat and rams into Sigurd, somehow sweeping up Eiríkur into a hug. Magnus is clearly a bit inebriated, given the red tinting his cheeks and the fact his breath reeks of alcohol. Eiríkur grunts in surprise, but he doesn’t resist Magnus. Sigurd jabs Magnus’s stomach, making him jump off of Eiríkur and Sigurd. He watches Magnus with a few faint traces of a smile.

“All right! Time t’ drunk!” Magnus yells out, grabbing Sigurd and Eiríkur’s hands and dragging them inside. Matthew shakes his head and silently follows.

The stench of the alcohol overwhelms Sigurd’s senses, temporarily stunning him. He feels Magnus’s hands undoing the coat, along with a few greedy eyes watching intently. Thanks to Vladimir’s choice in outfits, people who regularly go to Magnus’s or Alfred’s parties know that Sigurd dresses in such a sexy way that doesn’t hide his lean, toned body. Though he would normally despise that sort of attention, he needs to see Vladimir become jealous. It’s a fairly slow process, given how stubborn he is, but it’s worth it in the end. Sigurd just needs to avoid the mead and vodka. He’ll end up just as drunk as everyone else, despite not being a lightweight.

Berwald appears and yanks Magnus off of Sigurd. He nods in silent thanks and slowly undoes the rest of his coat. Thankfully, Magnus couldn’t figure out some of the buckles due to him already being fairly tipsy. Timo briefly appears to ask if Sigurd was all right. He simply nods and places his jacket on the rack by the door. It’s got several familiar coats hanging; Ivan, Ludwig, Gilbert, even Lovino and Antonio are here.

Sigurd’s eye then catches sight of Vladimir’s red overcoat. With a smirk, Sigurd heads out into the crowd. For it being early in the night, there’s already a fair amount of people here. A woman latches onto Sigurd’s side. Her small, nimble hands feel around Sigurd’s waist, fingertips occasionally dipping into the seam of his shorts. She compliments his body, pressing a chaste, teasing kiss onto his neck.

She ends up guiding him towards the makeshift bar. He decides that one drink shouldn’t do too much harm. He spots Timo’s mead and gladly pours himself a glass. The woman takes a shot of Ivan’s vodka and Sigurd uses every bit of restraint in his being to not flinch at how quickly she drank it and how mild her reaction was. Ivan’s vodka isn’t weak by any means. He casually glances away and takes a sip of the mead. The woman attaches herself back onto Sigurd’s waist.

He glances down at her. Hooded, lust-filled eyes and a Cheshire smile look up at him. Sigurd huffs and wraps an arm around her waist, leaning down and putting his mouth near her ear. She shivers in tense anticipation.

“Sorry, miss,” his voice is low and soft, “I’m taken by a handsome man already.” With that, he quickly releases her and uses her moment of shock to escape into the crowd. It doesn’t take Sigurd long to spot Vladimir chatting with Nikola.

Sigurd decides to stay at a distance, keeping Vladimir in view. He seems to know Sigurd is nearby but doesn’t respond in any way. Sigurd huffs and starts walking around. He gives brief, blunt denials to those who tried to sweet talk him into leaving the flat. He wishes he could just leave with Vladimir and get out of these damn shorts. Sure, they’re sexy, but they’re tight.

Though Sigurd honestly wasn’t ready to be suddenly yanked into a stranger’s lap. After a moment of initial resistance, he finds it to be useless to fight. He slumps against the person’s chest, two arms locking themselves around his waist. Sigurd takes a sip of the mead, not exactly giving much of a shit. He assumes the person holding him is a man, given the muscle-y, hairy arms and the gravelly voice whispering honeyed nothings. Sigurd mutely sighs in annoyance and takes another sip. The faint buzz from the alcohol is slowly becoming more and more prominent.

Scanning the nearby area, he spots a few familiar faces. Lovino and Antonio are trying to have a stable conversation, Antonio slowly becoming inebriated; Gilbert is trying to get Ludwig to dance; Ivan and Alfred seem to be arguing over something, Eiríkur trying to slip away only to be grabbed by either one of the other two men. Sigurd hums and forces himself to look away, knowing Eiríkur can probably handle it by himself.

Sigurd takes a fairly large gulp, glancing back at the man behind him. He doesn’t look too bad, but he can certainly benefit from a shave. That beard is simply not right. Sigurd doesn’t listen to any of the words the man’s saying, opting to scan what little he can see. Vladimir certainly doesn’t look too happy. They make eye contact, and there’s an evident flame of jealousy blazing in Vladimir’s eyes. Sigurd smirks and shifts around to make himself comfortable on the man’s lap. 

Nikola seemingly vanished to who knows where. Vladimir also seems fairly drunk already. It’s only been forty minutes since Sigurd got here. He was hoping for at least two hours to tease Vladimir before anything happened. Then again, he’s been having a rough week and Sigurd most definitely isn’t helping at all.

Sigurd barely muffles a gasp as the man holding him lets a hand wander. The hand rests itself on Sigurd’s thigh, grazing the hem of his shorts. He sighs and tilts his head back to look into the man’s eyes. At least his eyes are distinctly different from Vladimir’s since his are bright red and this man has gray eyes with hints of green lingering about.

Sigurd glances in Vladimir’s direction again. His eyes haven’t moved. Sigurd sends to smirk over before pressing a faint kiss to the man’s jaw. Vladimir shakes his head and disappears into the crowd. Sigurd frowns but chuckles in slight amusement.

Seems like their game has officially begun.

—

An hour later and Sigurd’s mind is hazy. Sturdy hands pin him against some wall. Hot lips press sloppy kisses on his neck. He sighs in faint annoyance and contempt but complies with this man anyways. At any given moment, Vladimir should appear and punch this guy straight in the face.

Straight. Something Sigurd definitely isn’t. Timo’s mead is stronger than last round. A worthy opponent against Ivan’s vodka.

Damn. Sigurd really is drunk. The shorts aren’t helping at all, either.

The man holding Sigurd soon lets a hand slip underneath the hem of his short. Out of instinct, Sigurd kicks the man where the sun doesn’t shine. He grunts in pain and stumbles back, the alcohol delaying his reflexes. Sigurd slips away and returns to where the main crowd is. Earlier, once more people arrived, Magnus put on strobe lights and fog machines. The music is also louder, and more people are drunk. Sigurd, still being sober enough to focus, decides to wander and flaunt to the strangers in hopes of riling up Vladimir even more.

Seems like his efforts paid off rather nicely, seeing that Vladimir is stomping up to Sigurd. Vladimir’s face is tinted red and his eyes are blazing with jealousy. He grabs Sigurd’s wrist and starts dragging him towards the door. They stumble a bit, taking more than a few minutes to find the exit amongst the crowd, but they manage to escape.

The cool air outside stuns Sigurd, but Vladimir is unfazed and continues moving towards the elevator. They reach there and head to the ground floor. No words are said as Sigurd waves down a taxi to take them to— after a quiet mental debate— Vladimir’s place. Eiríkur may or may not be taking Alfred home tonight. Eiríkur needs to finally start dating someone decent, so Sigurd hopes those two get together. Though he’ll need to talk to Alfred before he and Eiríkur got together.

Vladimir has a vice hold on Sigurd’s hand once they settle in the backseat of the cab. He doesn’t complain and remains silent. The ride is fairly peaceful. Though they were nearly hit by a stray drunk driver. The taxi driver managed to swerve out of the way just in time. Neither Vladimir nor Sigurd were too happy with that. He swears he heard Vladimir growl.

The drive doesn’t take long, only fifteen minutes at most. Sigurd pays the tip and he and Vladimir release each other’s hands and exit the taxi. It drives off, leaving the two at Vladimir’s small townhouse. He grabs Sigurd’s hand and stumbles up to the door. After fumbling with the keys, the effects from the drinks still prominent, Vladimir nearly falls inside. Sigurd barely catches him.

Somehow, that meant they spun around in a fit to not collapse and it ended with Sigurd pinning Vladimir to the wall. He tilts his head down slightly, the height difference between them not being much. With no words said, he flips them around. Sigurd goes along with no resistance and taunts Vladimir by pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to his neck. His hand trails down Vladimir’s arm, making him shiver in anticipation.

He growls and grabs Sigurd’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “That damn game o’ yers really gets t’ me. Yer mine, ye know that, ‘ight?” Sigurd’s smirk further irritates Vladimir.

“Yer t’ one who makes me wear these,” Sigurd’s voice is low, soft. Vladimir strains to understand, but all he can understand was “wear these”. Sigurd must be acting smug again. He has that glint in his eyes.

Vladimir wraps an arm around Sigurd’s waist, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Ye need t’ be shown who ya b’long ta?” Vladimir’s voice is husky and a bit shaky thanks to the alcohol from earlier. 

Sigurd huffs but is thankfully Vladimir didn’t get horribly wasted. “Prob’bly. Timo was certainly lookin’ like a ten t’night,” Sigurd says to simply tease Vladimir.

He grins, one of his sharper teeth poking through his lips. “Glad t’ oblige, in that case.”

Sigurd grips the back of Vladimir’s head, crashing their lips together. They take a moment to simply bask in each other, but Vladimir soon starts taking over. His hands tease Sigurd’s waist, a leg slowly sliding between his thighs. Sigurd decides to be a tease and fight back. He runs a hand through Vladimir’s hair, the other hand slowly trailing up his stomach, hiking up his awfully tight shirt.

With a faint groan lost in the wet kiss, Vladimir pulls away. He smirks at Sigurd’s flushed face, lips parted in soft pants. He laughs breathlessly, and Vladimir swears his heart skipped a beat. Sigurd’s face looked so mischievous yet loving at the same time. Finding it too much to look at his downright handsome face, Vladimir’s lips attack Sigurd’s neck, nibbling and sucking on the skin on the junction between his neck and shoulder.

Deft hands feel around Sigurd’s crotch. There’s an evident tent of arousal straining against the shorts. Safely assuming he’s uncomfortable, Vladimir slowly unbuttons and unzips the shorts. Sigurd sighs in great relief, tilting his head to the side to expose more of his neck. A little reward for freeing his shaft. The shorts fall to the floor with an unnoticed thud. Sigurd kicks them to the side.

Vladimir palms Sigurd’s cock through his underwear. The little noises escaping him are phenomenal, and Vladimir craves them. He was going to assault Sigurd’s neck again, but he raised a hand to Vladimir’s shoulder.

“As sexy as it is t’ be pinned ‘gainst te wall, I would much ra’her be in bed. Tis more comfortable,” Sigurd’s voice is strained, seeing that Vladimir’s hand hasn’t ceased its movements. He hums and reluctantly backs off. Both are silently glad they don’t drink too much when they know this will be the end result. That happened once and both were in pain in the morning. 

With Vladimir constantly feeling around and pressing kisses to Sigurd’s neck, the two stumble into Vladimir’s room, giggling quietly. Sigurd turns around and wraps his arms around Vladimir’s neck and they fall onto the mattress. He lifts himself off of Sigurd for long enough so he could fully lie down on the bed before falling again. Sigurd grunts but chuckles and nuzzles Vladimir’s neck.

Maybe they’re both a little bit too tipsy still.

“Love ya, dork,” Sigurd murmurs into Vladimir’s neck. He freezes as he processes what he heard. With a dorky grin, he presses a chaste kiss to Sigurd’s jaw. Vladimir lifts himself off of Sigurd. They lock eyes, and the remnants of passion and lust that were fading away start to flicker again.

Vladimir’s hand barely grazes the tip of Sigurd’s cock, making him gasp softly. He had forgotten about earlier. His shaft was starting to go flaccid, but Vladimir’s teasing touch was rousing it back to life.

“Give me a minute.” Vladimir mutters before heaving himself off of Sigurd and standing at the edge of the bed. He decides to be a tease and slowly spread his legs. Vladimir growls, hands quick to take his shirt and pants off. Socks and shoes follow suit, and soon Vladimir’s nearly as nude as Sigurd.

“Sexy bast—” Sigurd’s cut off by Vladimir pouncing back onto the bed, smashing their lips together in a heated dance. Sigurd puts up no resistance, welcoming Vladimir’s tongue into a wet kiss. Hands paw at Vladimir’s shoulders, slowly slipping around his neck. A silent plea to not pull away.

Never ceasing its movements, Vladimir’s hand teases Sigurd. Featherlight touches and the occasional rub to the tip. Pulling away from Sigurd’s lips, making him groan quietly, Vladimir smirks. Sigurd wiggles his hips around slowly, hoping to tell Vladimir to hurry it up. He chuckles, hand moving to grab the hem of Sigurd’s underwear and tugging them downwards. He lifts his hips to help Vladimir remove the piece of clothing. With that now gone and on the floor behind Vladimir, Sigurd is left with only the black crop top on.

He lets out a soft sigh, shivering as the cool air touches his arousal. Vladimir’s hand continues from where it left off, slowly trailing up and down the heated flesh. Sigurd flinches at the hot, dry touch, sending a glare up at Vladimir. Quickly realizing they’re forgetting something, he hops off of Sigurd again. After digging around in the top drawer of the bedside table, Vladimir returns with a type of lube Sigurd’s never seen before. At least, in this sort of situation.

“Not usin’ that fancy brand ya refuse ta let me see?”

Vladimir returns to his position between Sigurd’s legs. “You want somethin’ fancy t’night?”

Sigurd shakes his head. “Not exactly, but I don’t care. Whatever ya want,” normally, Sigurd’s more demanding than this. Tonight, however, he just wants to be touched and coddled by Vladimir. He’s already been through enough tonight with Sigurd’s teasing.

“Somethin’ simple for a change o’ pace.” Vladimir opens the container of lube. Coconut oil. Sigurd’s used it in the past when he’s alone. Vladimir puts a generous amount onto his hand, rubbing it between his hands to warm it up.

“Not bad every once in a while.” Sigurd murmurs, lifting his legs up to wrap around Vladimir’s barely clothed hips. He really should remove that damned piece of clothing. Eyeing Vladimir’s slick hands, Sigurd sits up, pressing his chest to Vladimir’s and letting his hands slip down to his waist. He glances at Sigurd questioningly, but doesn’t say anything. “Want ya naked, idiot.”

“Then ya might as well take off that shirt.”

“Is it even a shirt?”

“If you wanna look at it that way.”

Sigurd hums disapprovingly, but quickly slips off Vladimir’s underwear, tracing a finger around the tip of his cock before sliding away. With slow movements, to tease Vladimir a little more and also to not tear the thin fabric, Sigurd removes the crop top and casts it off to the side.

Vladimir grins. “Ready?” Sigurd nods and lies back down on the mattress. “How d’ya stay so muscular but so thin at the same time? Does skiing do that or somethin’?”

Sigurd chuckles breathlessly. “Maybe. Now hurry up or I’ll take care o’ this myself.”

Vladimir glares halfheartedly. “Uh, no, this is my night to top. Ya ain’t doin’ anythin’.”

Sigurd just rolls his eyes and looks down at their cocks, both of which have flagged a bit. Though it seems his own cock’s perking up at the idea of Vladimir touching it. Sigurd presses his heels into Vladimir’s lower back, silently urging him to hurry along. He laughs under his breath and positions himself so that their arousals meet. Vladimir teasingly thrusts his hips slowly, hoping to get a rise out of Sigurd. He simply glares up in annoyance. Vladimir rolls his eyes and reaches down, sighing out in bliss.

Sigurd hums quietly, legs spreading apart even more. He rocks into Vladimir’s slick hand, greatly enjoying the sensation. Slow, sensual movements, and Sigurd feels the alcohol from earlier buzzing in the back of his mind. Barely there, but strong enough to make him start melting into Vladimir’s touch as his dominant facade starts to fade.

Greatly enjoying the sight before him, Vladimir’s hand starts moving faster, making Sigurd’s hips jerk slightly in surprise. Vladimir presses his thumb to the tip of Sigurd’s cock, rubbing small circles into the sensitive skin. He bites his lip, choking back a moan. Vladimir places his forearm by Sigurd’s head, leaning down and nibbling at his jaw. He roughly grabs Vladimir’s neck, reeling him in for a wet, passionate kiss.

Quiet noises pass between them as they quickly approach the edge. Neither are loud people in bed, which makes for some interesting events. Like that one time Sigurd hid under the table when Vladimir was talking with Nikola.

Interesting ti—

Vladimir slips, falling face first onto Sigurd’s neck and nearly falling off the bed. He jolts up, tightly holding onto Vladimir. He didn’t have his feet well braced on the floor and ended up getting too lost in pleasure to keep his footing.

With a sigh, Sigurd scoots back onto the bed, tugging Vladimir along. He pouts and looks up at Sigurd. He flips them around, Vladimir lying back on the bed with Sigurd sitting on his lap. He gently grabs Vladimir’s wrists, bringing them to their cocks again.

“Ya got somethin’ to finish, Vladimir,” Sigurd slowly sounds out the name, looking down at Vladimir with hooded eyes. He brings both hands, still slick, to their arousals, slowly feeling around. Seeing Sigurd sitting on top of him, that dominant glint in his eyes, his soft sighs and hushed moans. They all arouse Vladimir to a point where he can’t think clearly. His hands press against sensitive spots, one making Sigurd let out a moan. Vladimir lets out a few of his own in hopes of getting Sigurd to make a few more noises.

The knot tightening in Vladimir’s stomach is almost painful. Sigurd is clearly in a similar state. His thighs are trembling ever so slightly and his hips are rocking in Vladimir’s hands.

The knot snaps, and streams of white splatter across Vladimir’s chest. Sigurd follows shortly after, and Vladimir’s hands slow down. He hears Sigurd sigh in relief, moving to lean down and gently kiss Vladimir’s lips.

“Ya should get cleaned up,”

Vladimir looks up, blinking a few times in sleepiness. “‘M tired an’ wanna sleep now though, Sig.”

He sighs, but slides off of Vladimir’s lap to head to the bathroom for a towel. “Lucky I love ya, bastard,” Sigurd mutters.

“Love ya, too, Sig.”


End file.
